


All We Need

by Pennyplainknits



Series: Momentum [4]
Category: Bandom, Panic At The Disco
Genre: Best Friends, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-12
Updated: 2012-10-12
Packaged: 2017-11-16 04:21:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/535440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pennyplainknits/pseuds/Pennyplainknits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryan, Brendon, songs and Spencer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All We Need

**Author's Note:**

  * For [girlpearl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlpearl/gifts).



> Part of the [Momentum](http://archiveofourown.org/series/15693) 'verse, happens at the same time as [The Fast Sinking Anchor](http://archiveofourown.org/works/344043). Thank you to [](http://melusina.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**melusina**](http://melusina.dreamwidth.org/) for the beta. This is for [](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/girlpearl/profile)[**girlpearl**](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/girlpearl/) who's had a rough week
> 
> Needless to say, none of this is real

Spencer's at the kitchen table, an empty water glass in front of him. His hair is wet, and his eyes widen slightly as Ryan says,"I thought I heard the shower."

It wasn't until the noise _stopped_ that Ryan had recognised that Spencer had to be home. Brendon had been grinding into him, making urgent little thrusts, scratching his nails through Ryan's hair, Brendon's brilliant idea of swinging by to pick Spencer up for an afternoon of mini golf and tacos forgotten in the hot press of his mouth, the feel of his hands. It had taken the sudden cessation of noise and the thud of the bathroom door closing to bring them to their senses.

Spencer says, "I was out for a run."

His voice is a little thick, like he's getting sick. He shouldn't sit with wet hair, if that's the case, Ryan thinks, and smiles inwardly at how well Ginger trained them both.

A soft press of lips to his neck, and Brendon's behind him, hooking his chin on his shoulder. Ryan leans back into him. Brendon's shorter but it works, even though it shouldn't. Sometimes Ryan thinks that's the best description of their whole relationship.

""Hey, Spence," Brendon says, "We let ourselves in. That was ok, right?"

"Sure" Spencer says, and he seems to have cleared the frog in this throat. "You have a key, that's what it's for."

Ryan's still half thinking about feeding Spencer hot drinks, just in case, so he says,"You're out of coffee, though," and pushes away from Brendon to open the cupboard. Maybe Spencer has soup or tea or something.

Spencer has his hands curled tight round the edge of the breakfast bar. Ryan has no idea what's the matter but he's screaming "Uncomfortable!" in every muscle. "I know," Spencer says "I was going to go grocery shopping today, I'm out of a lot of stuff."

"Oh, we could go now," Brendon says. "I'll get my shoes, we need food as well, Ryan ate all the Pop Tarts."

"That's because they were the only edible food in the house," Ryan says, because he's not going to let that slur go. Brendon's cupboards consisted of Pop Tarts and expired microwave popcorn this morning, and neither were really enough.

"I've been kind of preoccupied." Brendon gives him that smile, and Ryan's tilting his head down to kiss him, already a habit.

“I'll go later,” Spencer says and he looks suddenly grey and tired. Ryan's about to ask what's wrong but Brendon beats him too it. They're both pretty attuned to Spencer, even now.

"You ok, dude?" Brendon frowns. "You don't look great."

"I'm fine." Spencer rubs his hand through his hair, tugging on it like he does sometimes when he's trying to concentrate. "I think I might have pulled something on my run. I'm going to put my feet up for a bit."

Ryan's not convinced, but it also doesn't look like Spencer's going to budge. Maybe he feels stupid for injuring himself when he's always poking fun at Ryan for all of the odd ways he manages to hurt himself.

Brendon lets go of Ryan's waist as he says,, "Ok; dinner tomorrow at mine? We're going to watch both Trons. Olivia Wilde?" Brendon waggles his eyebrows.

Spencer gives a ghost of a smile."Sure," he says. "Wouldn't miss it."

Brendon's fussing around with his shoes which give Ryan the opportunity to hug Spencer tight and try and stealthily feel the back of his neck to see if he has a temperature.

"You sure you're ok?" he asks, because Spencer feels kind of stiff, not hugging back as usual. His wet hair tickles Ryan's face.

"Yeah," Spencer says. "Yeah, Ryan, I'm fine. Just, you know, need to stretch more before running."

Brendon taps Ryan on the shoulder and Ryan reluctantly lets go to put on his coat. He's still worrying about Spencer as Brendon pulls out of the drive, Spencer waving from the door.

 

 

"Have you sent that song to anyone yet?" Brendon asks. Ryan's lying on Brendon's sofa, debating whether he should go home for clothes or just keep stealing Brendon's.

"What song?" he asks, tipping his head back to look at Brendon's upside down face.

"The one you keep humming," Brendon says, "the one you scribbled all over the back of the Thai takeout menu."

"It's not finished," Ryan says. It is, mostly, but he doesn't want to risk it. He's still not entirely convinced the three songs he sold in Europe weren't a fluke, and there's no way he's going to put his real name to them, like he knows Brendon thinks he should.

"It sounds finished to me," Brendon sits on the sofa, forcing Ryan to curl his legs up. Brendon wraps one hand round Ryan's knee. "You were singing it in the shower yesterday."

"Stop nagging me about this," Ryan says, irritated. Brendon's been bringing it up more and more and he's not sure why. "What is it to you anyway?"

"It's a good song," Brendon says, like he can just come out with that."You said, in London, that you just wanted to get the words out. You're writing them anyway. I don't understand why you won't just, fucking call Pete, ok?"

"Pete?" Ryan asks. The thought honestly hadn't crossed his mind. Pete made his choice clear.

"Pete," Brendon says, determinedly. "I can't believe you were braver than this when you were 18. Fucking call him and play him your songs."

"It's not as easy as that," Ryan says "I can't just do that anymore, he's _your_ boss, not mine."

"But he knows a good thing when he hears one," Brendon squeezes his knee.

"Will you just drop it?" Ryan snaps. "My songs weren't good enough for you guys any more, what makes you think Pete would want them either?" He swings his legs off the sofa, breaking Brendon's grip.

"Is that what you think?" Brendon asks.

Ryan's suddenly tired. He's not optimistic enough to think this whole thing with Brendon means they won't argue any more. They argued plenty, even before it all went to shit, and he knows they're both stubborn.

"It's true, isn't it?" He says sharply.

"Ryan, that's not what I-" Brendon's at an uncharacteristic loss for words. Ryan picks up his shoes and tugs them on. He's not really feeling up for a fight, or for opening old wounds. They've had this argument twice already.

"You're leaving?" Brendon says.

"I need to go back to my place," Ryan says. "I can work on the song there, seeing as you're so keen I make something of it."

"But, you're coming _back_ , right?" Brendon asks. Those huge eyes of his widen in concern, and Ryan sighs.

"Yes," he says even though it's tempting to tease him and say no. Brendon's still, after all this time, a bit sensitive about people abandoning him. Even though Ryan thinks he has more right than Brendon to be worried about that. At least Brendon had Spencer.

"Yes," he says instead and bends down to kiss Brendon's cheek. "I'll come back, at least before you guys start practising. This is me, being a grownup and walking away from a fight."

"You, a grownup?" Brendon tweaks one of Ryan's curls, but he looks relieved. "Who'd've thought it."

"Shut up," Ryan says, "I'll call you later."

 

 

The fire's dying down, and Ryan knows that he should either get up and put more wood on or move inside. The fall twilight is cold, even with his gloves and coat. But Spencer is warm next to him, hands linked, and head resting on his shoulder. He seems to be perfectly happy to sit in silence, like they always used to, and Ryan's in no hurry to move.

"You want to go inside?" He asks, just in case. Something's off with Spencer, fleeting moments where he looks sad, or guilty about something. Ryan thought it was maybe something to do with the band, but Spencer seems to be looking forward to the show, and he and Brendon still fit wonderfully together, in a way that makes Ryan slightly jealous. Not in the way that he wants back in- it's a kind of either/or deal, Brendon in his bed, or Brendon in his band- but having someone like that musically is something he misses.

"I'm comfy here," Spencer says softly. "Unless you're cold."

"Not cold enough to matter," Ryan says.

"Well, you do have a million layers on," Spencer says, tugging at the scarf in the neck of Ryan's coat.

"That's because I'm sensible," Ryan says.

"I didn't know I was going to be sitting outside or I'd have dressed properly," Spencer says.

"You don't seem to mind stealing my warmth," Ryan teases. Spencer stiffens next to him, and there it is again, the odd strangeness. He looks like he's about to move away, which is ridiculous. They've shared beds and bunks and sofas, and the physical closeness is something Ryan's always treasured, Spencer's strength enough for two, when Ryan felt like shattering.

"I didn't say I minded," Ryan says, and untangles their hands to slip his arm round Spencer's shoulders. Spencer settles back into him. His eyes are blue in the dying light of the fire, flames dancing in them, and Ryan's just- so fucking _fond_ of him. Loves him.

"So what are you going to do with that song then?" Spencer says after a beat.

"I was thinking," Ryan says. "About what you said, about showing them to someone else. B wants me to call Pete."

"Are you going to?" Spencer asks.

"I'll think about it," Ryan says. "Brendon won't leave me alone about it."

"He's, I think it's his way of saying he's ok with you writing," Spencer says slowly. "He's proud of you."

Ryan nods. It makes sense, and if anyone would know how Brendon's mind works now, it would be Spencer. He wonders if Spencer can still do that for him. What Spencer thinks of the music.

"I'm proud of you too," Spencer says, reading his mind. "I'm always proud of you Ry."

He looks so determined, Ryan has to hide his face in Spencer's neck. Spencer's belief had kept him going for so long when they were teenagers, it's like a punch to the gut to have it back.

“Thanks," he says, for lack of anything else to say.

"Any time," Spencer says. "Now, lets go inside? I can't feel my toes."

 

 

"Spencer says that you nagging me means you're proud." Brendon's hands still in Ryan's hair. Music winds round the room, cello and a cracked husky voice like an English version of Z.

Eventually Brendon says,"Does he?"

"Is he right?" Ryan closes his eyes as Brendon rests his hands on his shoulders.

"It's Spencer," Brendon says "When is he ever not right?"

"B-"Ryan starts because he wants a straight answer.

"Yeah," Brendon says, and bends down to kiss him on the forehead. It's a stretch, Ryan's head in Brendon's lap. "Shit, of course he is. They're great songs. I just wish you'd realise that."

"Hmmm," Ryan says. "Well you could have just said that instead of bugging me about them."

Brendon tweaks one of his curls. Every time Ryan thinks he should get his hair cut he remembers how much Brendon seems to like the longer hair. "Oh I'm so sorry," Brendon says "of course. You're the spiritual heir to Brian Wilson. Brian Wilson, and Ray Davis, and, and Kurt Cobain, and Gerard Way- shit, Paul McCartney wishes he could take songwriting lessons from you, is that enough?" He's laughing by the end of the sentence, and when Ryan pinches him hard in the thigh he just laughs more, until Ryan has to join in, because Brendon's laugh has always been infectious.

"So how come you'll believe Spencer instead of me?" Brendon asks eventually, when he's caught his breath and Ryan's sat up so he can lean into Brendon, feel his chest rise and fall against his back.

"Spencer," Ryan says, trying to make it encompass everything, the dying fire, and Spencer's warm presence next to him, the feel of his hands in his, the rightness of having him back there. He thinks if anyone could understand it would be Brendon. Although maybe not. He never had to go without it.

"Yeah," Brendon says, voice soft, and maybe, Ryan thinks, maybe he gets it. This feeling that Ryan's too cautious to put into words.

"So, I should probably do something about those songs," Ryan says. "Even the goose one?" That one's the hardest to think of someone else singing. The ones that mean something always are.

"Especially the goose one." Brendon nods. "You gonna call him?"

Ryan thinks about it. He could try someone else- it's not like Pete's the only person he knows in the business any more. But he's probably still the most connected, and if both Spencer and Brendon think he'll give him a chance it might be worth it.

"Yeah," he says, thinking of the four completed songs in the notebook Spencer gave him, the bits and pieces scribbled elsewhere, the banjo triplets that could go with them.

"Want me to stay?" Brendon asks.

"You want me to call him now?" Ryan says.

"No time like the present." Brendon stretches over him and grabs Ryan's phone from the arm of the couch.

Ryan thumbs the button to bring up his contacts.

"Could you-" he asks "wait in the kitchen or something? Don't really want an audience."

Brendon kisses him swiftly, tugging on his bottom lip, before sliding off the couch.

"No chickening out," he says, "You've done it once, and this time you don't even have to post pictures of your ass on the internet."

"You like my ass," Ryan says placidly, trying to cover up the nerves he feels as his scrolling hits the P's.

"I like all of you," Brendon says easily, warmth seeping into his voice.

"Yeah," Ryan says, smiling, "Same."

Brendon makes a "call him" gesture with his hand as he leaves the room, and Ryan takes a breath and hits send.

"Hey," he says when Pete answers. "It's Ryan. Ross."

"Ryan Ross," Pete's voice is deep on the other end of the line, the same as it ever was, just a little tireder sounding. "You have something for me?"

Ryan lets out the breath he was holding.

"I think I do," he says, and settles down to talk.

 

Ryan finally ends the call after an hour, tracks already on their way to Pete and the promise of more to come if Pete thinks it will sell.

"Well?" Brendon asks, leaning in the doorway

"Apparently there are three bands that Pete can think of right away that would want them." Ryan says. Brendon takes three big steps forward and hugs him.

"Told you so," he says, and Ryan feels lips press to the top of his head.

"I told him to use my name," Ryan says, because he's been thinking a lot about it, about what Spencer said, and Pete's blithe assumption that his name wouldn't hold them back. Would, actually, be a selling point.

"Hey," Brendon says, I'm proud of you," and he's stepping back, letting Ryan go only to cup one hand round his jaw and tilt Ryan's head to the perfect angle to kiss. Ryan gives himself over to it, Brendon's soft soft mouth and the slide of his tongue, lets his hands come round to clutch at Brendon's hips, relief and pride flooding through him.

He knows it shouldn't matter but it does, somehow. Pete's opinion still matters, and having that confirmation that he can still do this, still _write_ , makes him pour that elation into Brendon, who just presses all the way up against him and takes it.

Brendon breaks the kiss, panting. His eyes are wide, lips that wonderful shade of red that just makes Ryan want to bite them.

"We should celebrate," he says. Ryan grinds forward, getting hands on Brendon's ass.

"Sounds good to me," he says, "bedroom?"

"Hmmm tempting," Brendon kisses his neck, and Ryan shudders. "But I was thinking we call Spencer, and go out for dinner. Somewhere fancy. Spencer'll be proud too, he'll want to come."

Ryan can't say no to that, doesn't even really want to.

Dinner is long, and full of laughter, Brendon's foot hooked round his ankle from the first course, Brendon's hand soft on his wrist every time he pauses in his story to Spencer. Spencer and he fight for the last of the cherries in the huge sundae they share for dessert, spoons clanking against each other, and it just feels right, natural, to herd Brendon into the back of the car with Spencer so Ryan can drive.

Looking in the rear view mirror Ryan can see Brendon and Spencer curled into each other, Brendon resting his head on Spencer's shoulder, Spencer's hand on Brendon's thigh. He's tapping out a beat as Brendon sings along to the radio, voice clear and pure despite the booze and the cigarettes he's not supposed to smoke.

Ryan glances at them and waits for the jealousy to hit, but it doesn't. The only thing he feels is regret he has to be in the front seat, away from them.

Later, squashed onto the couch with his head on Spencer's shoulder and his fingers linked with Brendon's, the regret turns to something else warmer, filled with possibility. Like an idea whose time has come.

 

It's Brendon, of course, who brings it up. He's always been braver, or just more reckless, when it comes to saying things that need to be said.

"So," he says the next morning. "Spencer."

"Spencer?" Ryan asks. They're still in bed, early morning light streaming through the curtains, and Spencer's asleep in the next room. Ryan hopes Brendon's rooms are soundproofed, although a small part of him wouldn't mind if Spencer had heard him and Brendon fucking last night.

"Don't act like you don't know," Brendon says, sounding fond. "I've seen how you look at him. Like you look at me."

Ryan doesn't think he looks at Spencer any different than he ever did, which should tell him something. Then he parses the meaning properly.

"Hey," he says, and he reaches out to shake Brendon's shoulder "Brendon no, I would never- I'm with _you_." He means it. He doesn't do that shit any more, not when it's serious.

"Relax." Brendon turns his head to kiss Ryan's fingertips. His hair is a fluffy mess and his stubble shows dark against his skin. He's beautiful, Ryan thinks. "I get it. I mean. I do too. Love him. It's fucking, _Spencer_ , you know?" He rubs his hand through his hair, rucking it up.

"Yeah," Ryan does know, which is kind of the problem.

"So what do we do?" Brendon asks. He picks up Ryan's hand and threads their fingers together.

"We?" Ryan asks, to make sure he knows what Brendon's suggesting.

"Yeah," Brendon kisses his neck and Ryan sighs. "I don't want to choose, I don't think I could, not again, not anymore. Not for this."

The words are pressed into Ryan's neck, lips brushing his skin on every syllable.

"No," Ryan manages, thinking of Spencer in the next room. "I can't either."

He thinks of Z, and Alex, and how they would all three of them fall together and fall out, moving like tides in and out but never staying. "It's serious, the three of us," he says because it can't be like that. Not with Spencer, who was his before he even knew the concept. Who is so so much more than just 'best friends' that even the phrase seems kind of an insult. Not with Brendon, this unlikely thing that works so well.

"Of course," Brendon looks mildly insulted. "You think I'd risk it for anything else?"

"You have Spencer already," Ryan says.

"I meant risk you, you idiot," Brendon leans over to kiss him deeply.

Ryan smiles into the kiss. "Good to know," he says. "So what do we do?"

"Well, he's just next door, we could go and invite him to join us." Brendon slides his hand down Ryan's chest and Ryan circles his wrist, capturing it and stopping him from moving any further. This is a time for discussion, not handjobs.

"No," he says, "we can't just spring it on him. He'll think it's just a one time thing. You know him, he'll freak out that you'll get hurt."

"Or you will," Brendon says.

Ryan nods.

"So, I guess we wait," he says "at least 'til you guys have done this gig. See how he looks at us? Hope that he wants the same thing."

Brendon rolls so he's on top of him, dark lashes catching the stray beams of light through the window. Ryan can see the bite he left on his collarbone and he wants, oh how he wants, to see Spencer's marks on Brendon's skin, to feel Spencer's weight on top of him.

"Of course he will," Brendon says, pressing his lips to Ryan's cheek, jaw, mouth. "How could he resist?"


End file.
